The Passing of Doctor Florbelle
by Amnesialove
Summary: Rated T for safety. Given that it is Amnesia and murder will be involved. Nothing like a good patricide to keep your interest.
1. The Starshaped Soapstone

**A/N: Okay, quick author note here. I was thinking about this idea for a long time before even writing up the start of it. Which is all I have done currently but it really depends on how it is received by others and if I can ever stop being do lazy as to finish it off. It won't be too long… I would hope… So, currently it is just a work-in-progress and… Well, we'll see if it is good or not…. Anyway… I'm going to start typing it now… **

_Soul Journal Entry:_

_Justine, age eleven._

_Today father came for me in my room. I still couldn't look him in the eyes. He said I shouldn't feel ashamed and that I only tried to fill the void left by mother. When he wasn't looking, I took the star stone from his collection._

_Today I was the one with the sword._

Justine knew to handle it with the greatest of care as she held it before her, flat in the palms of her hands. Naturally, you had to be very careful in the handling of the soapstone. Its edges were beyond being simply sharp, and it was of a heavy weight for a child to carry.

Placing the star stone in the loose pocket of Justine's day dress was well timed. The audible thudding of a man's walk (she knew it to be her father's own) came approaching a bit to quickly towards the child's bedroom door. Justine was left with but a moment to pick up a book from the bedside table, open it to a random page and pretend as if she was lost and engrossed within its pages. The young Florbelle plastered the most concentrated of looks she could conceive of upon her features as the master of the estate swung the bedroom door inwards.

**A/N: Ahh, I know it is so short but really I have only begun this idea and most likely I will be putting up more chapters of this... Well, maybe. If people like it and all that. Emm, you can just give me a quick review at the end if you so please to do so. It is all appreciated.**


	2. Only trying to fill the void

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump._

The bed creaked, slumping with the weight of Doctor Florbelle. A gap in seating between father and daughter.

"...Justine..."

The child's eyes were locked on the printed letter on the page, fixed to the mark.

"Justine," A firmness entered the doctor's voice, demanding his child's attention. "Look at you father when he speaks to you," A frown contorted his features A sight passed from his lips, dissolving the scorn to nothing. It would do no good to become frustrated at the child. "I understand why you behaved as you did," Silence saturated the room's air.  
"You mustn't feel ashamed for what you did, Justine... You were only trying to fill the void left by your mother." The silence continued on. Doctor Florbelle held back a sigh. Instead, in a trivial show of comfort and affection, he opted to gently lay a hand on his daughter's shoulder, squeezing it somewhat With an uncertain look towards the child as he governed no response, the springs of the mattress expanded as Monsieur Florbellel rose and took his leave of the eerily silent room.

**A/N: Okay, here we go. Newly edited. My head got into bit of a mess with this FF but I think it's all sorted now. Review now, if you would, please.**


	3. The One With The Sword

The emotions rolled over themselves endlessly. The loathing, contempt, humiliation the deep and dark desire to cause her father an ill-will.

No, that would not do. Something more than an ill-will would befall Doctor Florbelle.

Justine, fingers grasping the book's cover, sat seething in bottled up emotion. Regardless of how short and one-sided the previous conversation had been, it ran rings around the young girl's mind.

Loneliness.  
Restriction.  
Cold-heartedness.  
Apathy.  
Disdain.  
Disgust.  
Embarrassment.

The book snapped to a close, being quickly dumped to the beside table.  
The soapstone bounced against the girl's thigh in time to her movements. Her fingertips ran along the pocket's edge, daring to reach inside. Drawing a hand back behind her, Justine, with not a single, slight glance back into her innocence-filled bedroom, brought the oak door over on itself.

With quick light footsteps, the Florbelle child stealthily moved along the corridor's way.

It would not do to be caught. They would bring her back, ruin her plot on its very course of action.

Justine lay a steady hand to the wallpaper, standing up on tiptoe to see up ahead of herself.  
There was no one.  
This was not the time to be aware of the strict rules of the household behavior. Or the threat of punishment.

Taking slowed steps forwards, destination and scheme prioritized in thought, Justine's hand shot down to the outside of the day dress' pocket, reassuring herself that it was still there; it hadn't disappeared!

Such silly thoughts!

The child peeped a head around the corner, looking up the long distance of the gloomily lit corridor.  
She dared not do more than to stand and guide herself along the wall's way. It was a drive in adrenaline for, at any given moment someone could pop out of side room unexpectedly. Justine would take to conceal her body in the most convenient of door frames, should it be needed to do so.

Luck held out for the child and it seemed as if no time at all had passed before Justine was faced with a grand, intricately designed door front.

A rustle; an audible rummaging through, what Justine could only assume, papers, desk files, wardrobe and cabinet drawers and doors.

Multiple units were slammed to a shut. The pounding of a fist on a desk surface followed the commotion.

The ruckus was put to rest as silence permeated the air.  
The Florbelle adolescent stood in stillness for the passing moments, bitty fingers closed around the brass know of the study door. Without a creak in the turn of the handle, Justine tapped the door front inch by inch, sliding into the warm room.

Monsieur Florbelle sat, head resting on arms, in his desperate hopelessness.

How, oh how had it become lost, missing from his private collection of curios, foreign artifacts? He had kept the soapstone so safe, hidden away. How was he to ever find it again?

A coldness indurated the child's stare. There was nothing but loathing brimming the girl's soul.  
Her fingertips once again danced along her pocket's edge.

Continuously, the delusion would be broken into shards of unobtainable fantasy.

_You were only trying to fill the void_  
_Left by mother._  
_You must not feel ashamed._

A hand dropped into the pocket, drawing out the weighty soapstone.

_You were only trying to fill the void._  
_You must not feel ashamed._

Hand raised at a height above, the star's face meeting Heaven's gaze.

_You were only trying._  
_You must not feel._

Time seemed to have slowed itself with the fall of the hand, aiming.

Crack!

_You were only._  
_You must not._

Crack!

Up again, only to be brought down with force to the weakening skull.

Crack!

_You were._  
_You must._

The shine of scarlet dampened the gaps between the child's fingers.  
The soapstone face concealed with his blood.

_You._

The body tumbled to the side.

Frustrated pants of breath were drawn behind the child's teeth. The soapstone tumbled from her palm and dropped with a sonorous thud.

_You are not you mother._


End file.
